


down for the cause (down, down, down)

by kettering



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettering/pseuds/kettering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peters clapped him on the shoulder. "Try to find a way to...if not relax, then decompress. Take a day for yourself once in a while, don't worry about hockey or school or anything."</p><p>Sid hesitated. "Is that an order, or...?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	down for the cause (down, down, down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mentalistecbm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentalistecbm/gifts).



> i’ve promised this fic to you for over a year, surprise and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! je t'aime, you da you da best, i luh ya mami etc. i'm sorry that i can only write fluff masquerading as porn, please forgive me.
> 
> title from “jungle” by drake

As much as he tried to deny it, Sid was already at the point in the season when everything ached. He was tired, so, so _tired_ , falling asleep at his desk every night over at least three textbooks, the sometimes weekly roadies making his readings pile up until he could barely keep up with his discussion group and had to bullshit his way through the short essays assigned every week. Not to mention the never-ending ragers his housemates kept subjecting him to, which—Sid wasn’t a total hockey-nut buzzkill, no matter what Jack and Tanger and Army said. But he didn’t know what insane reserves of strength the guys he lived with seemed to call on, to be able to party every single weekend after games, practices, workouts—they’d been bagskated to hell and back once, right before Coach was fired and the new guy, Peters, came on, and Sid had thought for sure that the planned Mount Vesuvius party would be cancelled. Instead, the House had set a new record for the number of noise complaints filed against them.

“Just admit you’re a funless, ass-kissing killjoy and I’ll leave you alone, swear,” Jack promised, hands clasped earnestly and blinking at Sid with big, innocent eyes.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over your disgusting gear bag,” Sid fired back, kicking at said-bag until it was safely away and in their connected bathroom. “Why can’t you put it in your room, why’d you have to bring it in here?”

“Uh, first of all, your room is closer to the stairs, second of all, how exactly does a bad smell affect your hearing? Please, enlighten me. Are you taking anatomy this semester, Squid? Bio 101, perhaps?”

“Your gear has such a horrible smell, it’s become a physical presence,” Sid said, holding his breath while he sprayed down the tainted corner of his room with Febreze.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy," Jack said, stretching out on Sid's bed. "But seriously, you've been more of a downer than usual lately. What's up?"

"Your concern is touching," Sid muttered, rifling through the papers on his desk for—where'd he put that damn stats review, if Jack or Army or someone else had messed with it, he'd be seriously pissed. Or had he left it in the kitchen, when he'd gone down for a snack and somehow accidentally left it on the table...? No, Sid knew better than to leave any sort of homework in the kitchen, where any and everything was fair game to be used as a plate or paper towel or whatever. He'd gone to the library right after class, he hadn't left it there. Had he? Oh shit, he'd recycled a bunch of old papers, what if the review got mixed up in them—

"You aren't looking for this by any chance, are you?" Jack held up the missing notes.

"Jack, you are the _best._ " Sid was so relieved, he could honestly cry. "Thank you."

"Dude, you have been way more—” Jack bugged his eyes and did jazz hands in an apparent impression of Sid, which, no “—than usual.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m pretty sure I disagree with it.” Sid highlighted the top of section 3.4 in yellow, making a note to email the TA about the trouble he'd been having with it. Her office hours were Thursdays at four, smack in the middle of practice, and Sid had to see if she could stay later, or meet him at Starbucks, or he could go to her place if she needed him to.

“Nah, I’m serious, man. Are you okay? You’d tell me if something was going on, right?”

Sid looked up at the sobriety in Jack’s voice, surprised to see real concern coloring his normally carefree expression. “Jack. It’s just normal stress, I swear. Taking eighteen hours is harder than I thought it'd be, but I’ve got it under control. Trust me, if there were something wrong with me, you'd know.”

 

 

After the Panthers were shutout in back-to-backs on the road and Sid had zero points and a minus-5 in four games, Coach Peters pulled him aside. "I noticed you have a pretty big course load this semester, Crosby. Are you sure you can handle both your academic and athletic obligations?"

Sid's head and heart pounded, the urge to scream and cry and throw up all jumping to the forefront of his mind. He had to take three deep, grounding breaths and will his voice to stay steady. "I really appreciate your concern, and I'm sorry my play hasn't reflected all of the changes you've made to the team's system, but I'm working really hard, I'm trying to go hard to the net and I know I need to do a better job of communicating with the guys on the ice and stuff."

Peters clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting but really made Sid even jumpier. "Son, I know you're a hard worker. I know your stats, I've seen your tape, I know you went pretty high up in the draft. You're a great player, kid, but you're only human. Try to find a way to...if not relax, then decompress. Take a day for yourself once in a while, don't worry about hockey or school or anything."

Sid hesitated. "Is that an order, or...?"

Peters sighed. "Yeah, it's an order. I like yoga myself. Really centers the mind. _Ommmm._ "

 

 

"But this is great, right?" Army said, spinning in Sid's desk chair. He'd already gone around so many times, Sid had to stop watching or else risk puking everywhere. "You have been _so_ on edge lately, you just need to take a day and chill."

"I can't 'chill', midterms are in two weeks," Sid said, irked when Army doubled over laughing. "That wasn't a joke, they really are."

"You actually used air quotes. Oh, Squid, never change." Army wiped actual tears from his eyes. "Okay. So are you gonna try yoga? I'm pretty sure there are like a billion free yoga classes all over campus, or at least dirt cheap ones."

"I don't have a mat," Sid said, admittedly somewhat lamely.

"So borrow one, I'm sure someone in this house has one."

"I don't want to do yoga! I don't know any of the positions or whatever, I'm not embarrassing myself in front of strangers."

"Everyone's a beginner once," Army said in annoying singsong. "Okay, fine, no yoga. You could fly a kite or something!"

“Are you being unhelpful on purpose, because you can leave," Sid snapped, then immediately felt guilty. Shit. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

“I know, man,” Army said with a wry smile, and that made Sid feel even worse. “You should ask Sid, maybe she knows something."

 

 

"Why didn't you come to me sooner, Squid? This is literally in my job description, you're such a goof," Fatima Siddiqi, known to the rest of the team as Sid because the guys thought it'd be hilarious to call Fatima "Sid" and only refer to Sid as "Squid" or "Cros", said in that chiding yet indulgent way she had. "What you need is a _massage._ "

Sid was alarmed, both by the concept and the weird gleam in Fatima's eyes when she said it. "A massage? Like, cucumbers over my eyes and green goo on my face?"

"Just how many romcoms do you and JMFJ watch together, I wonder?" She grinned. "No, Drew Barrymore. A sports massage. Flower gets them from me all the time, ask him."

Sid was pretty sure Fatima meant figuratively, or at least not at that very moment, but it didn't stop Sid from calling him anyway. "Mmhmm, Sid hooks me up after games, it's the best," Flower said, tinny from being on speaker. "Gets those muscles all nice and loose, keeps me from getting too sore, and I think it helps with my flexibility, too."

"Told you," Fatima said, doing a mini-victory dance that involved the John Travolta disco finger a lot.

Sid waited for Fatima to offer her services up to him, and when they'd stared blankly at each other for long enough, finally asked, "Okay...so could you, like, massage me tomorrow or something?"

Fatima's face fell. "Oh, I totally wish I could, but I'm seriously swamped with clinicals for the rest of the week. Peters said it has to be tomorrow?"

Sid nodded glumly. "He told me to get it done in a week about a week ago."

"Okay, tell you what—I'm gonna email a guy I know, I think he's a trainer for softball or baseball, I can't remember. Either way, he probably isn't very busy right now, I could forward you his info if he's free?"

"I really appreciate that Fatima, thanks," Sid said, somehow more tense at the end of their conversation than he'd been before. But she was doing him a favor, and Sid appreciated her, so his smile, though thin, was genuine.

"No problemo, Squid!" Fatima shot him a double thumbs up and shooed him out of the training room.

 

 

Sid was nervous, because any time he was alone with a stranger, things invariably got weird and uncomfortable, plus the added bonus that the stranger would be touching him all over...he shuddered. It wasn’t too late to back out. He could just turn around, email the guy and tell him something came up, lie to the guys and Fatima and Coach and be done with it. But Sid _was_ seriously stressed out, unable to deny the mountain of worry he carried any longer. Sid owed it to the guys and to himself to see this through, to suffer through what would probably turn out to be the most awkward encounter in his life if it meant getting some of his mojo back.

He checked the email on his phone one more time. _Please come tomorrow, Saturday 7pm if you are available! I hope this is not to late for you! I am in Ruskin Hall Room 309. I am looking forward to meeting you Sidney! )))))_

The door placard read 309, and Sid had officially run out of stalling tactics. He held his breath and knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, and the tallest non-hockey player Sid had ever seen was suddenly leaning against the doorjamb. He might’ve been even taller than Army. “Hi, come in, please! My name is Geno, you must be Sidney Crosby. What I’m saying, of course you Sidney Crosby, who else comes to visit me at this time. So silly.”

“Hi,” Sid squeaked, actually squeaked, and god his face burned. Sid cleared his throat in what he hoped was a subtle and hardly noticeable way. “Hi. Uh, I think the guy I’m supposed to meet is named Ev-Evgeni, or something…?”

The guy laughed, a surprisingly cocky chuckle that on anybody else would’ve been condescending, but on him...Sid was really hoping he’d gotten the wrong room, and the guy whose hands would soon be all over him was actually a troll with warts and bad B.O. who lived next door. “Yes, this is very confusing for Americans. My name is Evgeni, but everyone calls me Zhenya. Mama, Papa, teacher, friends. Everyone says Zhenya. But in Pittsburgh, everyone can’t say ‘Zhenya’, so they call me Geno.”

“Oh,” Sid said slowly, trying to process all fifty names Geno threw at him. “And I’m not American. Not that I’m, like, offended or anything. I’m Canadian, you were close.”

Geno’s eyes lit up, though Sid didn’t realize his already cheery eyes could be any brighter. “Of course, I’m not thinking. You play hockey, of course you Canadian! I’m dumb, all the time my mama says so and she never wrong.”

“I mean, I’m sure you aren’t—it’s not stupid, it’s a pretty common mistake,” Sid said, returning Geno’s sunny smile with his own more hesitant one. Sid scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh, I don’t want to rush you or anything, I mean, I don’t have anything else going on tonight, but we should probably get started if you have a party or something to go to—”

Geno laughed again, this time a full-bellied one, and closed the door behind Sid while he shrugged out of his jacket. “No, no parties this weekend—huge exams next week, are you crazy?”

“That’s exactly what I said to my housemates, and when I left my house tonight, there were like six kegs being arranged in the kitchen,” Sid said, probably sounding exactly like the killjoy Jack always said he was. At least Geno seemed to be on his side. “I might have to camp out at the library until the end of next week.”

“Maybe,” Geno said before disappearing into what Sid assumed was his room. “Maybe they all get very serious for classes and you have peace and quiet?”

“Maybe,” Sid called, grin fading as he stood there in Geno’s living room. Sid’s nerves started to creep back in, the anomaly of getting along with a very friendly Russian not enough to keep Sid’s natural neuroses entirely at bay. “Uh, this is—like, your apartment is very. Nice. Is it alone? I mean, do you _live_ alone—”

“Yeah, just me,” Geno said, reappearing with an armful of lotions and oils and towels. “Everyone always so surprised, they think I’m can’t take care of myself.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true." Sid didn't know if it was true or not, it's not like he knew the guy at all. Sid's palms were so sweaty.

“It’s fine, they mostly right.” Geno smiled faintly and shrugged, spreading a Steelers beach towel over what appeared to be a folded down futon with extra cushions piled onto it. “I’m not have normal massage table, this okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Sid said, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. He was still standing just inside the living room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Geno loped over and settled his big, warm hands on Sid’s shoulders.

“So tense. Come on, take off your clothes and we get started.”

Sid’s face heated up and he waited until Geno was occupied with getting the makeshift table ready to quickly strip, standing there in just his black boxer briefs and thin gold chain. He waited until Geno beckoned him over, then, with a deep breath, laid down on the cushions.

Sid couldn’t help that his shoulders were drawn up to his ears, and just hoped Geno could work through Sid’s tightly wound stiffness.

"Something else I’m do, help you to get less tense?"

"Uh." Sid squirmed, the hair on the back of his neck prickling at the feeling of Geno hovering over him, not quite touching him yet. "I don't know, I guess...it's really quiet. Could you, I mean, if you feel like it, put on some music or something?"

"Sure, good idea." The music Geno chose was soft, but Sid could pick out a guitar and a male singer, and he didn't think the guy was speaking English either. It did the trick, filling up the heavy silence from before. “Relax, feel the oil. Nice and warm.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a sports massage,” Sid whispered, fingers clenching reflexively as Geno smoothed his hands over Sid’s back.

“You the one ask for calm music,” Geno teased, voice deep and rumbly and oh, god, just like that, Sid's flurry of nerves transformed into irrational attraction. He was so screwed. “Just because you play sports, that not mean you can’t have some gentle, too. Trust me, Sid."

“Okay,” Sid said faintly. He breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes. The oil Geno was using had a scent that Sid wasn’t familiar with. It probably wasn’t lavender, it wasn’t flowery or sweet-smelling, it was kind of...woodsy. Earthy? Whatever it was, it smelled and felt amazing. Sid’s eyes drifted shut.

Geno continued to lightly work the oil all over Sid’s back and arms and legs, and once Sid was satisfyingly covered, Geno dug his hands in harder, with more purpose. “Tell me if you hurt too much.” Sid tried to say “okay,” but all that came out was breathy nonsense. Geno laughed lightly. “Tough guy, right? You not hurt too easy.”

“Not true,” Sid said, squirming a little when Geno massaged along his sides. “Get—lots of checks, really hard ones sometimes.” Geno made a noise of interest at that. “Yeah, I mean, all of us do, I’m not special or anything.”

“I’m not hear Sidney Crosby not special,” Geno scoffed. “Fatima always say highlights to me, she not say, ‘oh, Sidney Crosby not big deal.’ Good hands, good worker, best captain is big deal!” Between Geno’s big, strong, _magical_ hands and the seductive lilt of his accent complimenting Sid’s hockey, it took an admirable amount of willpower for Sid to keep himself from doing anything rash, like proposing marriage or trying to suck Geno’s dick without preamble. Sid managed what he hoped was an ambiguous squeak and prayed to God that Geno didn’t ask him to turn over any time soon.

Geno kept up a light stream of conversation, asking after Sid’s major, his year in school, how he liked playing college hockey, all while Geno kept working on Sid’s right arm. Sid learned Geno was in his third year as well, a trainer for the baseball team and getting a double degree in Athletic Training and Slavic Studies, which Sid was extremely impressed by. “Not so impressive. Russian is very easy for me, practically free degree,” Geno said sheepishly as he scooted around the futon to move on to Sid’s left arm.

“Still, it’s, like, literature and stuff, that’s so much reading. Are you sure you have time to do this? I can wait for Fatima’s schedule to clear up some, if you need to be doing something else,” Sid fretted, guilty tension creeping back into his freshly massaged limbs.

“No, not too busy to help,” Geno assured him. “I’m want to help, promise.”

“Okay. Thank you, again.” Geno hummed his acknowledgement and moved further down Sid’s body, letting an only slightly awkward silence fall over the room again. Sid was content with the quiet; the sprinkle that followed him to Geno's apartment had brewed into a heavy drizzle, a soothing enough patter that, combined with the music still playing, Sid had a hard time staying lucid. Other than the occasional wince when Geno dug too deep, Sid was remarkably at peace. He thought about the House, that no matter what time of day it was, there was always a TV on SportsCenter or a laptop blasting Skrillex, people talking and laughing and being college hockey players. Sid loved the House, would never think about living anywhere else for his last years of university, but a place like this, a respite from the chaos of the House...a guy could get used to it.

"Okay, turn over." Sid rolled over, stretching his neck out and settling himself back into the futon.

Geno started with Sid's arms again until they felt like overcooked noodles, limp and heavy and pleasantly sore. When Geno moved further down, his arm brushed against Sid's semi. Sid's face burned, and if his mouth hadn't felt like a fucking desert, he would've apologized. But Geno didn't say anything, just rubbed oil into Sid's chest like nothing happened, so. Sid swallowed hard.

Except now that his dick had been touched, even in that brief, accidental moment, it was like Sid's body had shifted frequencies and every touch sparked his nerves like fireworks. Geno's thumbs stroked his nipples, first the left and then the right, and Sid jerked involuntarily, it felt so good. There was a short pause, and Sid flushed with embarrassment again, cursing his body's sensitivity. Geno was going to stop, send him away, tell Fatima about Sid's oversexed response to a perfunctory sports massage—but then he had to bite his lip against a moan as Geno thumbed his nipples again, this time rubbing them a little longer, maybe a little harder. Geno's big hands spanned Sid's concaved waist, and, god—Sid knew he was a solidly built guy, that his lower body and shoulders and torso were strong for and because of hockey, and he might've been a couple of inches shorter than his teammates but ultimately, he was in the best shape for the sport he was going to have a hopefully long career playing. But in that moment, with Geno's hands circling his middle, Sid felt _dainty_ , like Geno could pick him up and hold him against a wall and just...have his way with Sid.

"How you feel?" Unless Sid was hallucinating, Geno's voice was thick, gravelly.

Sid hoped his "hmmm" was an acceptable answer, as it was all he could manage just then.

Geno drizzled oil down both of Sid's legs, first giving them each a cursory rubdown before focusing on Sid's thighs. Geno was merciless again, using his thumbs to bear down and push Sid's muscles until Sid finally grunted his pain. "Sorry, I’m have to be very hard on thighs. Since you play hockey, use it a lot, you know?" Sid nodded, grateful that, if nothing else, the pain was killing his boner, which was a relief. "Spread your legs."

Sid obeyed, clenching his eyes shut and swallowing a moan when Geno deliberately rubbed his inner thighs. If Geno had kept up the bruising pressure from before, Sid might have been able to keep it together, though sprinting back to the House with a hard-on wouldn't have been pleasant. But it didn't matter, really, since Geno was...well, he was caressing Sid, and when Sid squinted to see what he was doing, Geno’s eyes were dark and so fucking intense, his fingers still methodical on Sid’s thighs. “Oh, god.” Sid’s voice came out hoarse and broken.

“It’s okay? Not hurt this time, hmm?”

Sid didn’t think he was imagining the glint in Geno’s eye when he posed the mostly innocent question, but erred on the side of caution when he rasped, “This feels a lot better, thanks.”

“Good, supposed to feel good.” Geno’s hand grazed across Sid’s dick again, and there was no way that was an accident. Sid dropped his head back, letting out a half-moan, half-sigh. “I’m already finish mostly, but you say you not have somewhere to be…”

“Yeah?” Sid asked, his heart beating a steady pulse in his ears.

“If you want, turn back over, I’m massage a little bit extra?” Geno’s hands were still rubbing Sid’s legs, almost absentmindedly, mischievous grin playing across his lips.

“Yeah, sure, if you think it’ll help.” Sid felt like he was in a dream as Geno moved so he was hovering over Sid, the cross of his necklace dragging across Sid’s chest, Geno was so close. It felt natural for Sid to tip his head back, lick his lips and meet Geno’s mouth in a kiss that electrified Sid down to his toes. Sid kissed him slow, savoring the slide of Geno’s tongue against his, strong and sure and a little bossy. Geno kissed so wetly, so heavily and with such conviction, Sid had to gently push at Geno’s shoulders to break away, slightly undone and disoriented.

Geno gave Sid a minute to recollect himself, then patted Sid’s thigh and motioned for him to roll over. “Still okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Sid folded his arms under his chin, taking a deep breath and arching his back a little, face burning as he put his ass on display.

Judging by Geno’s reverent groan and his firm two-handed grip on Sid’s ass, it worked. Sid held his breath while Geno rolled the waistband of Sid’s underwear down until it strained across the thickest part of his ass. “So beautiful, Sid,” Geno murmured, sliding his hands underneath the fabric to touch the bare skin of Sid’s ass. Geno squeezed a few times, then slipped Sid’s underwear all the way off. “Best ass I’m ever see, swear.”

Sid squirmed, partly because of Geno’s teasing and partly to more comfortably position his rock hard cock, and sighed a little from the friction. “Geno, please.” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking for, but he was confident Geno was the only one who could give it to him.

“Shhh, I’m help you feel good,” Geno crooned, and Sid heard the snap of a cap before slippery fingers smoothed something thick and cold over his hole.

“Is that—do you always just happen to have lube when you’re giving a stranger a sports massage?” Sid asked, mortified when Geno laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“This is my first time to give massage to stranger, guess so.” The smugness in Geno’s voice should’ve been a turn-off, but, as Sid was quickly discovering, the rules didn’t seem to apply to Geno.

Sid waited for Geno to do something more than rub lube over his asshole, but Geno seemed to be content to do just that, using his thumbs to part Sid’s cheeks, pressing against his hole but not in. Sid tried to push back against Geno’s fingers, spreading his legs wide to try to ride them himself, and groaned his dissatisfaction when Geno lightly spanked Sid instead, outright pouting when Geno stood. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Get a condom, be right back,” Geno called, already in his bedroom. Sid sighed, reaching down to squeeze himself for relief, then going even further, figuring he’d give Geno some... _incentive_ to pick up the pace. “Not have to have sex, if you not want, but figure we safe— _pozhaluista_.”

Sid shot Geno his sultriest look, which was probably ridiculous, and rocked back on his finger, showing off the deep dip of his back, the swell of his ass. “Geno, c’mon.”

Geno nearly tripped over himself to get back to the futon. “Sid, you not patient.”

“I can’t be, you’re driving me crazy.” Sid groaned and dropped his shoulders when he felt Geno’s lips skitter across his back as Geno pressed his mouth hot and wet and insistent up, up until he reached Sid’s neck and bit a monstrous bruise there, making Sid cry out and grind his hips down, seeking relief, any relief. “If you don’t _do_ something— _yes._ ”

Geno kissed him with a grin, slowly pushing a finger in, quickly followed by another. “I’m not too fast?”

“No, you’re perfect, yeah, more.” Sid tried angling Geno’s fingers better, huffing his pleasure when they hit—just right—

“Sid, I’m sorry,” Geno apologized, pulling his fingers out no matter how valiantly Sid clenched around them to keep them in. “I’m just, I’m take my pants off—”

“Holy shit,” Sid said eloquently, eyes going wide when he finally took in _all_ of Geno. “We’re definitely using that condom. Like, now.”

“Sid have to help me, my fingers too sticky.”

Through sheer force of will and determination, Sid sat up and tore open the condom, marvelling at how small his hand looked circling Geno’s dick. He couldn’t resist sucking on the head for just a minute, gratified by the twinge in his jaw from the stretch. He finished rolling the condom on, resolving to get his mouth back on Geno’s dick as soon as possible, and went back to his hands and knees, head hanging low while he waited for Geno to join him.

The futon squeaked dangerously as Geno clambered on, hands fanning across Sid’s back, one hand gripping his waist while the other went to work, three fingers stretching Sid so fucking good. “More, Geno, I’m ready, I’ve _been_ ready.”

Keeping his hold on Sid, Geno teased the wide head of his cock to Sid’s hole, earning a moan from the both of them. Geno slid in slowly, carefully, until Sid could feel Geno so deep inside, he had to squeeze his own cock hard to keep from coming right away. Geno kept the roll of his hips leisurely, still hitting deep and filling Sid so right, his hands flat on Sid’s shoulder blades until Sid’s arms were shaking so badly he had to drop down to his forearms. “Sid, I’m—if I’m too hard, or hurt you, just say—”

“Do it,” Sid gasped, and keened when Geno bucked his hips faster, _harder,_ draping himself over Sid’s back and knocking Sid’s knees further apart, using his thick thighs to get the right amount of leverage to slam home every time. Sid gave up trying to hold himself back, making these hurt little “unh, unh, unh” noises and stroking his cock, Geno's chest solid and warm against his back. Sid’s skin felt molten, hot and malleable and burning up as Geno rode him hard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Sid went tight around Geno’s cock as his orgasm rocked him, Geno letting up to kiss him on his pliable mouth. “Keep going, yeah.”

Geno fucked Sid like he wanted to win, then moaned in Sid’s ear, long and drawn out, driving his hips down hard into Sid as he came. Geno slumped over Sid when he was finished, dead weight making Sid’s breath come shallow, but he liked it. “Sid,” Geno said finally, low and tired with a kiss to Sid’s shoulder. “Sorry for—how the word—make you flat?”

“Squish? Crush?” Sid suggested drowsily, trying to subtly snuggle into Geno’s arms a bit more.

“Yeah, sorry for crush you. My English right now—my brain is crazy.” Sid preened. _He_ did that, _he_ made Geno just as groggy and preverbal as Sid felt. “Be right back, I go clean some.” Sid shivered, back suddenly cold once Geno got up and trudged to the bathroom.

After allowing himself another moment to bathe in the afterglow, Sid managed to stand, legs wobbly and body sore. He gathered his clothes, glad that Geno had given him a moment to recollect himself, get dressed and process what had happened. Sid knew Geno probably wasn’t looking for anything serious, and Sid already had enough to deal with, and really didn’t need a relationship to take anymore time away from school and hockey. Sid had his degree and his future in the NHL looming over him. He didn’t need a distraction, no matter how tall and handsome and kind and fun that distraction was.

No matter how much Sid might’ve wanted it.

“You make it back home so late? Not big deal if you stay, go home in the morning,” Geno offered, pulling a hoodie over his head as he joined Sid back in the living room.

“No, thanks, I’ll be okay.” At the door, Geno leaned up against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. Sid was struck by how weird it felt to be leaving, how much he wanted to stay and be around Geno just a little bit longer."Uh, thanks again for the massage, and, uh...the other stuff," Sid said, grabbing the back of his neck and fighting the blush coloring his cheeks. "It was good. Everything was, uh, nice."

"Glad to help," Geno said, licking his lips and looking very much like he wanted to burst out laughing. "Anytime you need help to get loose, can call me always."

Sid got the distinct feeling he was being teased. "I don't have your number."

Geno rifled through his backpack hanging by the door, producing a Sharpie triumphantly. "Give me your hand."

Sid watched as Geno carefully penned his number across Sid's palm, blowing gently to help the ink dry. "You could've just put it in my phone."

"Is more fun this way," Geno said, tongue back between his teeth for an indulgent smile that Sid was totally weak for. "You call me, or text, whenever. I'm always ready for help."

"Okay," Sid said, backing out of Geno's apartment with a little wave. "Um, night, Geno."

Before he could get very far, Geno reeled him back in, hands automatically curving over Sid's ass as Geno hauled him in for a deep, promising kiss. Sid was breathless, weightless, eyes fluttering shut as Geno kept kissing him, opening them again when Geno pressed one last kiss to his lips like an ellipsis. Sid stumbled as he continued down the hallway, turning to give Geno a little half wave. "Okay. Bye, then."

Sid could hear Geno's grin as he called, "Night, Sid."

**Author's Note:**

> and then sid goes on to totally wreck the NHL, geno continues his tradition of post-game massages, and the pens win the cup every year for the next 25 years, a picture of captain sidney crosby-malkin and devoted husband evgeni malkin-crosby posing with each of their 17 babies sitting in the cup gracing their christmas cards every year. the end.


End file.
